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caspersickfanfics · 2 months

Text

For @monthofsick day 11: Totally drained/Exhausted

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, panic, trauma/trauma response, ptsd, passive self harm in the form of deliberately not caring for one's body

This went a bit off script - I apologize if it's not what you were looking for, anon, but I really hope you enjoy it anyway!

Anon asked:

I know that someone recently requested a sick Cyno one so I fully if this wouldn’t fit, but I was thinking about a cynari one with sick Cyno for the prompt totally drained/exhausted? Maybe Cyno has come back from a long job, and is just worn out from it all, that his stomach is rejecting food or maybe got poisoned or something. His stomach is just…so upset and Tighnari won’t allow him to simply “power through”

Cyno stumbles up to Tighnari’s home in the middle of the day. He’s not surprised that the forest watcher is out; he’s often quite busy with his duties, and he takes his job seriously.

Any other day, Cyno would join him and offer his assistance. Just this once, though, he sits just outside of the small hut, and trembles. It’s a bit torturous right now, to be still. Every so often, he gets up and paces, in spite of his aching muscles and tired body. Cyno scouts the area for danger once, twice, too many times to track. He is annoyed with himself and with his body, impatient to see Tighnari and more overwhelmed with each shallow breath. As much as he hates to admit it, Cyno is aware that in his current state, he would only be a distraction - or worse, a burden.

Tighnari finds him there, hours after his arrival. It’s dark enough that, even squinting, it’s hard to make out Cyno’s face. Though his posture relaxes somewhat at the forest watcher’s presence, something still something seems off. Tighnari ushers him inside for a better look.

The lamps illuminate a sorry state that the setting sun did not: Cyno is visibly exhausted. The bags under his eyes could just as easily be bruises. They’re so dark that it compels Tighnari to touch them, only for Cyno to violently flinch away.

They both freeze. Tighnari blinks. That’s never happened before. In the privacy of their home in Gandharva Ville, Cyno has always basked in physical contact, seeming to need it as he does air. Now, he pulls away further, eyes wide, and trembles harder. His shoulders bunch up by his ears. When an ashamed apology slips from Cyno’s lips, it makes Tighnari’s breath catch. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says, pulling gloved hands behind his back. “It was my bad. I’ll brew us some tea.”

Cyno nods absently. He’s barely listening, Tighnari can tell. Hopefully the tea will help. Even the quiet pop of the stove clicking to life makes the matra jump.

“I’m just tired,” Cyno says, uncharacteristically defensive. “You were out for so long today.” Tighnari nods placatingly and stays thoughtfully silent as he waits for the tea to brew.

Once it’s ready, Tighnari moves slowly, and says Cyno’s name quietly to get his attention. He still startles, but accepts the mug with both hands and a quiet thanks.

The matra stays standing while they drink their tea. It’s painful to watch. His legs look too shaky to hold him on, the lines of his face drawn and tense at the effort. Tighnari should probably ask him when he last slept. He doesn’t. Instead:

“Did you wait long when you got here?”

Cyno shrugs and avoids his eyes, telling Tighnari everything he needs to know.

“You silly man,” Tighnari huffs. “Why didn’t you go in and rest?”

He doesn’t get much of a response. Another shrug. They finish their drinks in silence, Tighnari’s eyes traversing Cyno’s body, calculating and evaluating his needs. There’s a flush across his cheeks, and Tighnari wonders if he’s managed to catch a cold. It’s an unusual event, considering Cyno’s healthy constitution, but lack of sleep could certainly have made him more susceptible.

Fortunately, the tea seems to be doing its job. Cyno’s eyelids droop, some of the tension in his muscles fading away. He doesn’t protest when Tighnari asserts that they’ll do the dishes in the morning. It’s unnatural, keeping his distance, but Tighnari is careful to give the other man his space as they transition to the bedroom.

Once they’re under the covers, Cyno speaks quietly. “Nari. You can touch me. I’m not– I’m not afraid of you.”

His breath is still coming in short, erratic huffs, making Tighnari hesitate. He hums softly, so Cyno knows he’s heard, and turns to face him. Cyno is turned away, and Tighnari aches to hug him, can guess that’s what Cyno would like as well, but then he sees a shiver run through him. He has to make sure.

“What do you want?”

The answer comes quick, with an edge of desperation. “Little spoon. Please.”

Tighnari is all too happy to comply. Never to this extent, but it has happened in then past that, after a particularly taxing job, Cyno needs some help with calming down. This part is familiar to Tighnari. He curls around his partner, chest pressed to back. His hand comes to rest over Cyno’s heart, and he can feel it pounding relentlessly.

“Tachycardia,” Tighnari mumbles, counting each beat. Definitely too fast, but not enough to require a trip to the Bimarstan. Not yet, at least. “For how long?”

Cyno makes a noise that sounds both pleading and irritated. “It’s okay, Nari. Just need to sleep.”

There’s little Tighnari can do at this point, so he lets it go. He snuggles in, pressing his nose against Cyno’s nape and clutching him tighter. He forces himself to stay awake; sheer willpower has him blinking his eyes open multiple times until he feels Cyno’s heart calm and his breathing even out. He presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, finally allowing himself to drift off as well.

–––

Cyno’s mind is not kind to him. He had hoped that Tighnari’s presence would calm his nerves, and it did, but only temporarily. He still wakes no more than 2 hours later with tears on his cheeks and a conviction that he’d done something horrific. He checks Tighnari over for injuries in a haze, his head pounding and stomach swirling. It’s fear, though he hates to admit it.

He wishes he couldn’t remember the last time he was this tired, but he can. He was about 12. Back then, he was…

Cyno bites his cheek, hard. He pushes the thoughts from his mind. If there was a time when he was a monster, then so be it. If the monster still resides with in him, then he will simply refuse to let it rise up again.

Though his brain is ready to move, his body is not. Cyno turns slowly out of Tighnari’s grip so as to avoid waking him with his once again racing heart. He’d like to prevent further questions about that. He doesn’t want to confess that it’s been like this for days.

It truly is a relief to have gotten some rest. Tighnari has a uniquely calming presence on him, and for a while, it’s bearable to just lay there. Cyno tries to manage his breathing, tries to keep his mind blank or thinking about the forest watcher beside him. It works, until it doesn’t.

He hoists himself up with great effort, reassured when the pain shooting through his muscles brings clarity to his mind.

Then, he keeps himself occupied.

First it’s tidying the hut. Just little things, here and there - nothing that would be loud enough to wake a sleeping fox. Once he’s done as much as he can, Cyno slips outside. It’s dark, with only the moon and stars brightening the sky, but he’s long since learned to navigate without relying on light.

He finds a peaceful field nearby and trains his body, a familiar routine that is frustratingly more difficult than normal, until the sun starts to rise and the town starts to wake. His body aches. His head pounds. Cyno wanders the village and helps the older folks who rise early with their morning chores, and then he helps the older folks who slept in with theirs. One of them asks if he’s alright, and Cyno blames his wilting appearance on the forest’s humidity.

It’s still early when he returns to the hut. He plans to make breakfast in exchange for Tighnari’s hospitality, but the forest watcher is waiting for him in the doorway. From a distance, he looks annoyed. As Cyno draws closer, his expression changes to one of disbelief.

“Oh, archons,” Tighnari breathes, looking at him like he’s seen a ghost. When Cyno tries to look back, there are suddenly three Tighnari’s in front of him. Hm. That can’t be good.

“Cyno, sit down.” He sounds distinctly exasperated, “Do you even know what you look like right now?”

“Probably like a very strong, intelligent, and admirable human,” Cyno quips.

Tighnari glares, ignoring the joke entirely. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Yes,” Cyno says, and perhaps he responded too quickly, because Tighnari’s eyes narrow keenly.

“How long?” It’s a demand more than it is a question. Cyno can’t help but hesitate. He knows Tighnari sees right through him, but suddenly his brain just isn’t working right.

“Don’t worry, Nari,” he mumbles. He tries to think of something reassuring. “I’m fine. I’ve been helping the villagers all morning.”

The concern in Tighnari’s face morphs into something more akin to horror. He shakes his head. “Get in bed.”

“I’m going back to work in a few hours.”

“You’re hilarious. Bed. Now.”

“At least let me make you breakfast.”

“Absolutely not.” Tighnari has been working himself up into a fury, and it’s alright - this is how Tighnari responds to worry. But then his face falls. Utter devastation mars his delicate features. Cyno trembles. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Tighnari, bravely, forges on.

“Do you– do you know that you’re hurting yourself right now?”

Cyno flinches away. Something aches, more than his muscles, deep in his soul. It swirls his stomach. He wants to sleep. He wants to relax. He wants Tighnari to smile and lie around in bed with him all day.

He cannot let Tighnari get hurt.

Unbidden, the vision from Cyno’s nightmares is superimposed on top of the forest watcher before him. It’s gone in an instant, but the damage has been done. Heat washes over his body and tremors run violently through him. Tighnari’s eyes widen, and then he disappears from Cyno’s vision.

The matra manages a choked noise of protest. He wants to follow, but his feet are held frozen in place by an overpowering wave of nausea. He doubles over, retching, and Tighnari reappears, bucket in hand. Cyno grasps at it. He coughs uncontrollably until hot, burning liquid shoots into the container, a revolting splatter against plastic. There’s just barely time for a moan before he’s being sick again, choking on a few chunks of undigested food until they’re carried forward by another gush of puke.

“That’s it. You’re okay.” Tighnari’s voice is thready and strained. “You’re safe.”

He certainly doesn’t feel it. Cyno would’ve liked to remain standing, but his legs give out. Tighnari catches him by the waist and guides him to the floor as Cyno continues gagging and heaving. His head feels heavy, ballooning bigger and bigger with each heave, and the ground is shaking beneath him. There’s a moment of relief when Tighnari’s cool hand finds his forehead, but then it draws away with a curse.

“I shouldn’t have let you go out this morning,” Tighnari mumbles. As if it’s his fault. Cyno’s stomach squeezes, wringing itself out all the more forcefully and emptying into the bin.

He doesn’t remember leaning into Tighnari, but when the retching comes to a stop, Cyno realizes that he’s practically in his lap. Queasy tremors continue to run through him, but his heart is finally slowing. Tighnari holds him without complaint. He gives him time to catch his breath, waits as he burps again and again, bringing up a few more pathetic streams of bile, catches him a second time when Cyno slumps against him.

“Did you know you had a fever?” Tighnari asks eventually. Cyno just shakes his head. He’s spent, 100%. He doesn’t move when Tighnari’s hand falls over his heart.

“It seems… better. How are you feeling?”

It takes a moment to find words again, but Tighnari waits. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Nari,” he croaks. “I just can’t–” He squeezes his eyes shut, awful memories on the edge of his vision again. Tighnari hums.

“Tell me, Cyno. You can’t keep bottling it up.”

He’s right. Cyno knows it. And Tighnari knows about his past, he’s fine with it. Still. There’s a difference between knowing his monstrous history and finding out that he still carries the beast with him. That it’s with them, ready to attack, every night in bed. That Cyno can’t guarantee it won’t get out in the moment when he’s weakest. When he’s tired. When he’s sick. Cyno whimpers. He doesn’t know how to tell Tighnari this, and he doesn’t know if he should.

“You’re scared of something,” Tighnari whispers knowingly. “That’s okay. I’m scared of things, too.”

Yes, Cyno thinks, but not of me.

The thought has him lurching for the bucket again. His throat grates as he heaves, repeatedly, until he manages to weakly cough up a few splashes of bile. He’s so exhausted. And Tighnari is so sweet. It pains him, but Tighnari deserves to know. Cyno wipes an arm across his mouth.

“I could hurt you.” His voice sounds small even in his own ears. He knows Tighnari heard. He must have. And yet, when there’s no big reaction, when he doesn’t jump away or even tense up, Cyno second-guesses. “Did you hear me, Tighnari? I said–”

Tighnari snorts. As if he’s laughing. Defiance flares and Cyno’s fists ball up. When he speaks, Tighnari sounds entirely unfazed. “I heard you. You have seen my ears before, Cyno, haven’t you?”

Cyno squirms, irritated and planning to remove himself from Tighnari’s lap until a hand presses down firmly on his chest. “I heard you, Cyno,” Tighnari tries again, his voice serious, now. “And I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, but really. I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Cyno says darkly, but Tighnari is shaking his head before he finishes speaking.

“I know what childhood was like for you. I know it was difficult, and painful, and scary, and that you think you hurt people. But I also know it wasn’t your fault. You were a child.”

“I’m a monster.” The words slip out and send a clawing fear up Cyno’s throat. Tighnari holds him tighter, and nothing else happens. Tears flood Cyno’s eyes. “Tighnari, I– I’m a–”

“No,” Tighnari says firmly. “You are not. I trust you. The villagers trust you. Collei, who trusts few others, trusts you. Sumeru trusts you.”

Cyno wants to protest. They’ve all made a mistake. They shouldn’t. They don’t know what could happen, the risk–

“Please, Cyno, trust our judgement, for once. Just a little bit. Just for today.”

And it’s… Not a fix. It doesn’t obliterate Cyno’s fears, doesn’t make him feel wholly human. But something fizzles out, like a balloon deflating through a single pinprick. Cyno does not give his trust out easily, but for nearly as long as they’ve known each other, Tighnari has held it gently in clawed hands, never so much as threatening to scratch it.

Perhaps he’s simply too tired to maintain the tension that’s kept him awake for so long, and it will be just as bad tomorrow, but Cyno doesn’t think so. Dazed, but hopeful, for the first time in nearly half a week, Cyno nods. Tighnari smiles, and Cyno can breathe a little freer.

“Okay,” says the keeper of Cyno’s trust. He stands and takes Cyno up with him, cradled in his arms. Safe. Almost whole. It’s good enough, at least for now. “Let’s get you back to bed, then. When you wake, we’ll play a game of cards, if you want.”

Cyno mumbles something unintelligible into Tighnari's chest and falls into a deep and peaceful sleep.

–––

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#my writing #tw emeto #tw vomit #tw anxiety #tw panic #emeto tw #tw passive self harm #tw trauma #genshin emeto #genshin impact emeto #sick cyno #cyno genshin impact #tighnari genshin impact #novemetober rescheduled #novemetober #genshin sickfic #spent so long on this........ idk if i like. it just needed to be done at some point #my writing: genshin

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